


Nectarines

by Las



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Character Bleed, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Las/pseuds/Las
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days you want Castiel out of your head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nectarines

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is lies. Spoilers for 4x22 and 5x18.

  
Jensen cranks up the wisecracking to eleven when confronted with a crowd these days, and you're reminded of those few seconds before diving head-first into your first con, having just gone through the briefing. You said to him, "So, fuck 'em?" and he laughed this very un-Dean laugh and said, "Yeah, basically."

You up the ante. He sees your panel-crash and raises you embarrassing anecdotes at Paleyfest. But neither of you are easily embarrassed, and it's for the best. At least he doesn't shove his foot in your balls. (Yet?)

Every so often some flash of Dean peeks through and you are almost distracted. Some smirk, some sarcasm, and you feel your face settling into Castiel's trademark frown, as if he's been summoned. Of course frowning would not be the appropriate reaction at the time, so Jensen'd say, "What?" and you'd say, "Nothing," because you can deal with Jensen, and you can deal with Dean, but Castiel can't deal with Dean, and Castiel has been in your noggin for three years now. Usually he sleeps, usually you can control him, your very own Jimmy Novak curled up in the corner of your brain, but sometimes Jensen actually curses "son of a bitch" unironically and it stirs.

Some days you want the angel out of your head. He is a heavy shroud, full of destructive reasoning and desperate instincts, making all the mistakes you loved to make when you were young, except the consequences of your emotional failures were never so apocalyptic and the growth of your loves never so cruel. Some actors talk about the roles that stick with them long after they've left the set and you wonder if Castiel will be that for you - not just for how long you've played him, but for the way you've ripped open scabs in your psyche to understand his mind, the way you've poured salt on them to internalize his motivations. People have it wrong: acting isn't about pretending at all. You didn't have to pretend when Dean looked into your eyes and told you what was worth dying for. You really felt your stomach twist. You felt the nausea the moment Castiel decided to turn his life upside down for this man, this roman candle of a man, and you were shaken to find yourself so galvanized. ("Can we eat these?" you asked about the burgers after the director yelled cut. You were trying to distract yourself, shake yourself out of it. The A.D. smacked your hand. _Don't get corn syrup all over the props._ ) In the alleyway scene, you may have been occupied trying to not actually hit Jensen, but when Dean yelled at you to do it, your fist uncurled of its own volition. An instinct you've nurtured inside you to be attuned to that voice and everything it asks of you. It's not about pretending. It's habitation.

Some days you walk on set and see Jensen in the distance, a glimpse of him in costume going somewhere with the suggestion of purpose. Without his mannerisms and tenor to ground you, your heart clenches and feels an instinct towards flight.

You're not afraid; you are curious. You confess to him in half-truths when you're both drunk. "Castiel's gonna swallow me whole," you say, and Jensen says, "Shitty fucking way to go," and he's probably right. Alcohol makes you maudlin. Angels make you maudlin, jesus fucking christ. But Jensen is an observant fellow, and he says, "Are you okay?" and you say, "It's been three fucking years," and he gets it. He laughs. He says, "It's been six for me, man. How do you think I feel?"

He orders another round of shots and smiles at the waitress like you've seen Dean do, or is it just booze goggles, you can't tell, and you tell the beast in your heart to go back to sleep. When Jensen asks you what you should toast to, you say nectarines. It's the first thing that comes to mind. It's people on tightropes trying not to look down. He laughs that un-Dean laughs and says, "To nectarines!"

Bottoms up.  



End file.
